March is the fourth coldest month.

March 23. 

2 P. M. — 40°; rather windy.

Small dark-based cumuli spring clouds, mostly in rows parallel with the horizon. 

I see one field which was plowed before the 18th and spring rye sowed. The earlier the better, they say. Some fields might have been plowed earlier, but the ground was too wet. Farmer says that some fifty years ago he plowed and sowed wheat in January, and never had so good a crop. 

I hear that Coombs has killed half a dozen ducks one of them a large gray duck in Goose Pond. He tells me it weighed five and a half pounds, — while his black ducks weigh only three and a half, — and was larger than a sheldrake and very good to eat. Simply gray, and was alone, and had a broad flat bill. Was it the gadwall? or a kind of goose? 

It will be seen by the annexed scrap [Tables from the Patent Office Reports, 1853, p.332; 1854, p.427; 1855, p.375.] that March is the fourth coldest month, or about midway between December and November. The same appears from the fifteen years' observation at Mendon. (“American Almanac,” page 86.) 

The descent to extreme cold occupies seven months and is therefore more gradual (though a part of it is more rapid) than the ascent to extreme heat, which takes only five months. 

The mean average temperature of the coldest month (February) being 23.25, and of the warmest (July) being 72.35, the whole ascent from extreme cold to extreme heat is 49.10°, and in March (32.73) we have accomplished 8.48°, or a little less than one sixth the ascent. (According to the Mendon fifteen years ' average the whole ascent is 47.5, and in March we have advanced 9.2, a little more than one fifth.) 

It appears (from the scrap) that December, January, and February, the three winter months, differ very little in temperature, and the three summer months and September are next most alike, though they differ considerably more. (Same from Mendon tables.) 

The greatest or abruptest change is from November to December (in Mendon tables from September to October), the next most abrupt from April to May (in Mendon tables from March to April). 

The least change (according to the above tables) is from December to January. (According to Mendon tables, the same from December to January as from January to February.) 

The three spring months, and also October and November, are transition months, in which the temperature rapidly changes.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 23, 1860

March is the fourth coldest month. See March 25, 1860 ("To speak of the general phenomena of March")

The season is detected by the aspect of the clouds.

March 22.

P. M. – Launch my boat and row downstream.

There is a strong and cool northwest wind. 

Leaving our boat just below N. Barrett's, we walk down the shore. We see many gulls on the very opposite side of the meadow, near the woods. They look bright-white, like snow on the dark-blue water. It is surprising how far they can be seen, how much light they reflect, and how conspicuous they are. Being strung along one every rod, they made me think of a fleet in line of battle. 

We go along to the pitch pine hill off Abner Buttrick's, and, finding a sheltered and sunny place, we watch the ducks from it with our glass. There are not only gulls, but about forty black ducks and as many sheldrakes, and, I think, two wood ducks. The gulls appear considerably the largest and make the most show, they are so uniformly light-colored. 

At a distance, as I have said, they look like snowy masses, and even nearer they have a lumpish look, like a mass of cotton, the head being light as well as the breast. They are seen sailing about in the shallow water, or standing motionless on a clod that just rises above the surface, in which position they have a particularly clumsy look; or one or two may be seen slowly wheeling about above the rest. From time to time the whole flock of gulls suddenly rises and begins circling about, and at last they settle down in some new place and order. 

With these were at first associated about forty black ducks, pretty close together, sometimes apparently in close single lines, some looking lumpish like decoys of wood, others standing on the bottom and reminding me of penguins. They were constantly diving with great energy, making the water fly apparently two feet upward in a thick shower. Then away they all go, circling about for ten minutes at least before they can decide where to alight. 

The black heads and white breasts, which may be golden-eyes, for they are evidently paired, male and female, for the most part, —and yet I thought that I saw the red bill of the sheldrake [They are sheldrakes], —these are most incessantly and skillfully plunging and from time to time apparently pursuing each other. They are much more active, whether diving or swimming about, than you expect ducks to be. Now, perchance, they are seen changing their ground, swimming off, perhaps, two by two, in pairs, very steadily and swiftly, without diving. 

I see two of these very far off on a bright-blue bay where the waves are running high. They are two intensely white specks, which yet you might mistake for the foaming crest of waves. Now one disappears, but soon is seen again, and then its companion is lost in like manner, having dived. 

I see those peculiar spring (?) clouds, scattered cumuli with dark level bases. No doubt the season is to be detected by the aspect of the clouds no less than by that of the earth.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, March 22, 1858

Launch my boat and row downstream. See March 16, 1859 ("Launch my boat and sail to Ball's Hill. It is fine clear weather and a strong northwest wind"); March 17, 1857 ("Launch my boat."); March 19, 1855 ("Launch my boat.");March 22, 1854 ("Launch boat and paddle to Fair Haven. Still very cold"); April 19, 1858 ("Spend the day hunting for my boat, which was stolen.")

Forty black ducks, pretty close together, sometimes apparently in close single lines. See March 22, 1854 ("Scare up my flock of black ducks and count forty together.")

Sheldrakes two by two. See March 5, 1857 ("I scare up six male sheldrakes, with their black heads, in the Assabet,—the first ducks I have seen"); March 16, 1855 ("Scare up two large ducks . . . I think it the goosander or sheldrake."); March 16, 1854 ("I see ducks afar, sailing on the meadow, leaving a long furrow in the water behind them."); March 16, 1860 ("Saw a flock of sheldrakes a hundred rods off, on the Great Meadows, mostly males with a few females, all intent on fishing.”) See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Sheldrake (Merganser, Goosander)

They look bright-white, like snow on the dark-blue water. It is surprising how far they can be seen, how much light they reflect, and how conspicuous they are. See April 15, 1855 ("It is remarkable how much light those white gulls . . . absorb and reflect through that sombre atmosphere, — conspicuous almost as candles in the night."); March 29, 1854 ("A gull of pure white, - a wave of foam in the air.")

Great cumuli slowly drifting in the intensely blue sky

June 11

P. M. —To Flint’s Pond. 

The locust in graveyard shows but few blossoms yet. 

It is very hot this afternoon, and that peculiar stillness of summer noons now reigns in the woods. I observe and appreciate the shade, as it were the shadow of each particular leaf on the ground.

I think that this peculiar darkness of the shade, or of the foliage as seen between you and the sky, is not accounted for merely by saying that we have not yet got accustomed to clothed trees, but the leaves are rapidly acquiring a darker green, are more and more opaque, and, besides, the sky is lit with the intensest light. It reminds me of the thunder-cloud and the dark eyelash of summer. 

June 11, 2019

Great cumuli are slowly drifting in the intensely blue sky, with glowing white borders. 

The red-eye sings incessant, and the more indolent yellow-throat vireo, and the creeper, and perhaps the redstart? or else it is the parti-colored warbler. 

I perceive that scent from the young sweet-fern shoots and withered blossoms which made the first settlers of Concord to faint on their journey. 

Saw yesterday a great yellow butterfly with black marks. 

See under an apple tree, at entrance of Goose Pond Path from Walden road, a great fungus with hollow white stem, eight or nine inches high, whose black funereal top has melted this morning, leaving a black centre with thin white scales on it. 

All the cistuses are shut now that I see, and also the veiny-leaved hieracium with one leaf on its stem, not long open. 

I notice no white lily pads near the bathing-rock in Flint’s Pond. See a bream’s nest two and a quarter feet diameter, laboriously scooped out, and the surrounding bottom for a diameter of eight feet (! !) comparatively white and clean, while all beyond is mud and leaves, etc., and a very large green and cupreous bream with a centre, while half a dozen shiners are hovering about, apparently watching a chance to steal the spawn. 

A partridge with young in the Saw Mill Brook path. Could hardly tell what kind of creature it was at first, it made such a noise and fluttering amid the weeds and bushes. Finally ran off with its body flat and wings somewhat spread. 

Utricularia vulgaris very abundant in Everett’s Pool. 

A beautiful grass-green snake about fifteen inches long, light beneath, with a yellow space under the eyes along the edge of the upper jaw. 

The Rubus triflorus apparently out of bloom at Saw Mill, before the high blackberry has begun. 

Rice tells me he found a turtle dove’s nest on an apple tree near his farm in Sudbury two years ago, with white eggs; so thin a bottom you could see the eggs through.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 11, 1856

The locust in graveyard shows but few blossoms yet. See June 7, 1854 ("The locusts so full of pendulous white racemes five inches long, filling the air with their sweetness and resounding with the hum of humble and honey bees"); June 9, 1852 ("The locust in bloom"); June 10, 1853 ("The locust bloom is now perfect, filling the street with its sweetness."); June 12, 1852 ("The locusts' blossoms in the graveyard fill the street with their sweet fragrance.")

I observe and appreciate the shade, as it were the shadow of each particular leaf on the ground. See June 2, 1854 ("These virgin shades of the year . . . how full of promise!  I would fain be present at the birth of shadow. It takes place with the first expansion of the leaves.");  June 4, 1860  (" A grateful but thin shade . . .so open that we see the fluttering of each leaf in its shadow.”)

I think that this peculiar darkness of the shade . . . reminds me of the thunder-cloud and the dark eyelash of summer. See June 9. 1856 ("Now I notice where an elm is in the shadow of a cloud,—the black elm-tops and shadows of June. It is a dark eyelash which suggests a flashing eye beneath. It suggests houses that lie under the shade, the repose and siesta of summer noons, the thunder-cloud, bathing, and all that belongs to summer."); May 29, 1857 ("The sunniness contrasts with the shadows of the freshly expanded foliage, like the glances of an eye from under the dark eyelashes of June.") See also May 27, 1859 ("The dark river, now that shades are increased, is like the dark eye of a maiden.") and note to June 6, 1855 ("The dark eye and shade of June.”)

The red-eye sings incessant. See June 11, 1852 ("The red-eye sings now in the woods, perhaps more than any other bird. “);  June 12, 1853 ("The red-eyed vireo is the bird most commonly heard in the woods.”)  See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Red-eyed Vireo

The more indolent yellow-throat vireo.   See May 19, 1856 ("A yellow-throated vireo . . . singing indolently, ullia — eelya, and sometimes varied to eelyee.”) See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Yellow-throated Vireo

Saw yesterday a great yellow butterfly with black marks. See June 3, 1859 ("A large yellow butterfly . . . three and a half to four inches in expanse. Pale-yellow, the front wings crossed by three or four black bars; rear, or outer edge, of all wings widely bordered with black, and some yellow behind it; a short black tail to each hind one, with two blue spots in front of two red-brown ones on the tail"); June 14, 1860 ("I see near at hand two of those large yellow (and black) butterflies . . . a small and slender swallow tail with reddish brown and blue at the tail; body black above and yellow along the sides. (C. says it is the Papilio Turnus of Say.)")

All the cistuses are shut now that I see. See May 30, 1853 ("The cistus out, probably yesterday, a simple and delicate flower, its stamens all swept to one side. It upholds a delicate saffron-golden (?) basin about nine inches from the ground."); June 3, 1854 ("The cistus is well out on the Cliffs; maybe several days."); June 7, 1855 ("Cistus, apparently yesterday, open.")

The veiny-leaved hieracium with one leaf on its stem, not long open. See  June 15, 1851 ("The Hieracium venosum, veiny-leaved hawkweed, with its yellow blossoms in the woodland path.");   August 21, 1851 ("I have now found all the hawkweeds. Singular these genera of plants, plants manifestly related yet distinct. They suggest a history to nature, a natural history in a new sense. ") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, The Hawkweeds (hieracium)

A partridge with young in the Saw Mill Brook path. See June 14, 1858 ("Young partridges, when?"); June 27, 1852 ("I meet the partridge with her brood in the woods . . . She spreads her tail into a fan and beats the ground with her wings fearlessly within a few feet of me, to attract my attention while her young disperse.") See also  A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Partridge

A beautiful grass-green snake about fifteen inches long, light beneath, with a yellow space under the eyes along the edge of the upper jaw. See May 19, 1860 (“See a green snake, a very vivid yellow green, of the same color with the tender foliage at present, and as if his colors had been heightened by the rain.”); May 9, 1852 ("See a green snake, twenty or more inches long, on a bush, hanging over a twig with its head held forward six inches into the air, without support and motionless.”)  

The Rubus triflorus apparently out of bloom at Saw Mill.  See May 21, 1856  ("Rubus triflorus abundantly out at the Saw Mill Brook; how long?"); June 30, 1854  ("Rubus triflorus berries, some time, — the earliest fruit of a rubus.") See also A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, the Raspberry

June 11. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 11

This hot afternoon

the stillness of summer noons 

in the shady woods.

Cumuli drifting

    in the intensely blue sky –

glowing white borders.

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Great cumuli slowly drifting

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau

 "A book, each page written in its own season, 

out-of-doors, in its own locality."

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx ©  2009-2026

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-560611

The black elm-tops and shadows of June.

June 9

P. M. — To Corner Spring. 

Without an umbrella, thinking the weather settled at last. There are some large cumuli with glowing downy cheeks floating about. Now I notice where an elm is in the shadow of a cloud,—the black elm-tops and shadows of June.

June 9, 2017

It is a dark eyelash which suggests a flashing eye beneath. It suggests houses that lie under the shade, the repose and siesta of summer noons, the thunder-cloud, bathing, and all that belongs to summer. These veils are now spread here and there over the village. 

It suggests also the creak of crickets, a June sound now fairly begun, inducing contemplation and philosophic thoughts, — the sultry hum of insects. 

A yellowbird’s nest in a poplar on Hubbard’s Bridge causeway; four fresh eggs; ten feet high, three rods beyond fence. 

Veronica scutellata (how long?) at Corner Spring. 

Compelled to squat under a bank and stand under a wood-pile through a shower. 

6.30 P. M. — Up Assabet. 

Again, about seven, the ephemera came out, in numbers as many as last night, now many of them coupled, even tripled; and the fishes leap as before.

A young robin abroad.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 9, 1856

Without an umbrella, thinking the weather settled at last. See June 8, 1860 ("Within a day or two has begun that season of summer when you see afternoon showers, maybe with thunder, or the threat of them, dark in the horizon, and are uncertain whether to venture far away or without an umbrella.")

Large cumuli with glowing downy cheeks floating about. See June 4, 1855 ("Great white-bosomed clouds, darker beneath, float through the cleared sky and are seen against the deliciously blue sky, such a sky as we have not had before."); June 11, 1856 ("Great cumuli are slowly drifting in the intensely blue sky, with glowing white borders”).

It is a dark eyelash which suggests a flashing eye beneath.   See To the Maiden in the East from The Dial (October 1842) and A Week ("The lightning's silent gleam, / Startling my drowsy dream,/ Seemed like the flash / Under thy dark eyelash.")

It suggests houses that lie under the shade, the repose and siesta of summer noons, the thunder-cloud, bathing, and all that belongs to summer. See June 6, 1855 ("You see the dark eye and shade of June."); June 8, 1850 (" When the frogs dream, and the grass waves, and the buttercups toss their heads, and the heat disposes to bathe in the ponds and streams then is summer begun"); June 8, 1859 ("Within a day or two has begun that season of summer when you see afternoon showers, maybe with thunder, or the threat of them, dark in the horizon"); June 11, 1856 ("It is very hot this afternoon, and that peculiar stillness of summer noons now reigns in the woods. "); June 16, 1860 ("It appears to me that these phenomena occur simultaneously, say June 12th :• Heat about. 85° at 2 P.M.• Hylodes cease to peep.• Purring frogs (Rana palustris) cease.• Lightning-bugs first seen.• Bullfrogs trump generally.• Mosquitoes begin to be really troublesome.• Afternoon thunder-showers almost regular.• Sleep with open window.• Turtles fairly and generally begun to lay.")

The creak of crickets, a June sound now fairly begun. See June 7, 1858 ("June shadows are moving over waving grass-fields, the crickets chirp uninterruptedly. . .The trees having leaved out, you notice their rounded tops, suggesting shade."); see also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The Cricket in Spring

A yellowbird’s nest in a poplar on Hubbard’s Bridge causeway. See June 9, 1855 ("A yellowbird’s nest eight feet from ground in crotch of a very slender maple. “) See also A Book of the Seasons,: the Summer Yellowbird

Again, about seven, the ephemera came out, in numbers as many as last night, ...; and the fishes leap as before. . . . See June 8, 1856 (“my boat being by chance at the same place where it was in ’54, I noticed a great flight of ephemera”).  See also June 9, 1854 (7 p. m. — Up Assabet. . . .[T]here is an incessant sound made by the fishes leaping for their evening meal, dimpling the river like large drops as far as I can see . ..”); June 2, 1854 ("It was a great flight of ephemera"). See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Insect Hatches in Spring (millers, perla, shad-flies or ephemera)

June 9. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, June 9

 I notice an elm 

in the shadow of a cloud –

the shadows of June. 

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The black elm-tops and shadows of June

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau

"A book, each page written in its own season,

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2026

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-18560609

The first summer clouds, piled in cumuli with silvery edges

May 24 

A. M. -— To Beck Stow’s. 

Buttonwood not open. Celandine pollen. Butternut pollen, apparently a day or two. 

Black oak pollen yesterday, at least. Scarlet oak the same, but a little later. The staminate flowers of the first are on long and handsome tassels for three or four inches along the extremities of last year’s shoots, depending five inches (sometimes six) by four in width and quite dense and thick. 

The scarlet oak tassels are hardly half as long; the leaves, much greener and smoother and now somewhat wilted, emit a sweet odor, which those of the black do not. Both these oaks are apparently more forward at top, where I cannot see them.

Mountain-ash open apparently yesterday.

In woods the chestnut-sided warbler, with clear yellow crown and yellow on wings and chestnut sides. It is exploring low trees and bushes, often along stems about young leaves, and frequently or after short pauses utters its somewhat summer-yellowbird like note, say, tchip tchip, chip chip (quick), tche tche ter tchéa, —— sprayey and rasping and faint. Another, further off. 

Bog Rosemary

Andromeda Polifolia now in prime, but the leaves are apt to be blackened and unsightly, and the flowers, though delicate, have a feeble and sickly look, rose white, somewhat crystalline. Its shoots or new leaves, unfolding, say when it flowered or directly after, now one inch long. 

Buck-bean just fairly begun, though probably first the 18th; a handsome flower, but already when the raceme is only half blown, some of the lowest flowers are brown and withered, deforming it. What a pity!

Juniperus repens pollen not even yet; apparently to-morrow. Apparently put back by the cold weather.

Beach plum pollen probably several days in some places; and leaves begun as long. 

Hear a rose-breasted grosbeak. At first think it a tanager, but soon I perceive its more clear and instrumental — should say whistle, if one could whistle like a flute; a noble singer, reminding me also of a robin; clear, loud and flute-like; on the oaks, hill side south of Great Fields. Black all above except white on wing, with a triangular red mark on breast but, as I saw, all white beneath this. Female quite different, yellowish olivaceous above, more like a muscicapa. Song not so sweet as clear and strong. Saw it fly off and catch an insect like a flycatcher. 

An early thorn pollen (not Crus-Galli) apparently yesterday. 

Pick up a pellet in the wood-path, of a small bird’s feathers, one inch in diameter and loose; nothing else with them; some slate, some yellow. 

Young robins some time hatched. 

Hear a purple finch sing more than one minute without pause, loud and rich, on an elm over the street. Another singing very faintly on a neighboring elm. 

Conant fever-bush had not begun to leaf the 12th. 

I seem to have seen, among sedges, etc., (1) the Carex Pennsylvanica; also (2) another similar, but later and larger, in low ground with many more pistillate flowers nearly a foot high, three-sided and rough culm (the first is smooth); also (3) an early sedge at Lee’s Cliff with striped and pretty broad leaves not rigid, perhaps on 554th page of Gray; (4) the rigid tufted are common in meadows, with cut-grass-like leaves. Call it C. stricta, though not yet more than a foot high or eighteen inches. 

Of Juncacea, perhaps Luzula campestris, the early umbelled purple-leaved, low. 

And, apparently, of grasses, foxtail grass, on C. ’s bank. 

Naked azalea shoots more than a week old, and other leaves, say a week at least. 

P. M. —— To Cliffs. 

Wind suddenly changes to south this forenoon, and for first time I think of a thin coat. It is very hazy in consequence of the sudden warmth after cold, and I cannot see the mountains. 

Chinquapin pollen. Lupine not yet. Black scrub oak tassels, some reddish, some yellowish. 

Just before six, see in the northwest the first summer clouds, methinks, piled in cumuli with silvery edges, and westward of them a dull, rainy looking cloud advancing and shutting down to the horizon; later, lightning in west and south and a little rain. 

Another kind of frog spawn at Beck Stow’s.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 24, 1855

In woods the chestnut-sided warbler, with clear yellow crown and yellow on wings and chestnut sides. See May 23, 1857 ("It appears striped slate and black above, white beneath, yellow-crowned with black side-head, two yellow bars on wing, white side-head below the black, black bill, and long chestnut streak on side. Its song lively")' . June 15, 1854  ("At the Assabet Spring  . . . Saw there also, probably, a chestnut-sided warbler. A yellow crown, chestnut stripe on sides, white beneath, and two yellowish bars on wings") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Chestnut-sided Warbler

Andromeda Polifolia now in prime. See May 24, 1854 ("Surprised to find the Andromeda Polifolia in bloom and apparently past its prime. . . A timid botanist would never pluck it.")

Hear a rose-breasted grosbeak. At first think it a tanager . . . Black all above except white on wing, with a triangular red mark on breast. See. May 21, 1856 (" What strong colored fellows, black, white, and fiery rose-red breasts! Strong-natured, too, with their stout bills. A clear, sweet singer, like a tanager but hoarse somewhat, and not shy");  May 25, 1854 (" Hear and see by the sassafras shore the rose-breasted grosbeak, a handsome bird with a loud and very rich song, in character between that of a robin and a red-eye. It sings steadily like a robin. Rose breast, white beneath, black head and above, white on shoulder and wings")  See also A Book of the Seasons by Henry Thoreau, the Rose-breasted Grosbeak

Young robins some time hatched. See June 10, 1853 ("We hear the cool peep of the robin calling to its young, now learning to fly."); June 18, 1854 ("I think I heard the anxious peep of a robin whose young have just left the nest.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Robins in Spring

Just before six, see in the northwest the first summer clouds, methinks, piled in cumuli with silvery edges, and westward of them a dull, rainy looking cloud advancing and shutting down to the horizon. See May 25, 1860 "I see in the east the first summer shower cloud, a distinct cloud above, and all beneath to the horizon the general slate-color of falling rain.") and note to May 11, 1854 ("There is a low, dark, blue-black arch, crescent-like, in the horizon, sweeping the distant earth there with a dusky, rainy brush.”)

May 24. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, May 24 

Just before six the

first summer clouds, methinks --

piled in cumuli.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, The first summer clouds

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau

"A book, each page written in its own season,

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2025

https://tinyurl.com/hdt-550524

To the Assabet. Still no rain.

July 12.

July 12,  2012

I observed this morning a row of several dozen swallows perched on the telegraph-wire by the bridge, and ever and anon a part of them would launch forth as with one consent, circle a few moments over the water or meadow, and return to the wire again.

 2 p. m. — To the Assabet. Still no rain.

 The clouds, cumuli, lie in high piles along the southern horizon, glowing, downy, or cream-colored, broken into irregular summits in the form of bears erect, or demigods, or rocking stones, infant Herculeses; and still we think that from their darker bases a thunder-shower may issue.

The mower, perchance, cuts some plants which I have never seen in flower. 

I hear the toads still at night, together with bullfrogs, but not so universally nor loud as formerly. I go to walk at twilight, — at the same time that toads go to their walks, and are seen hopping about the sidewalks or the pump.

Now, a quarter after nine, as I walk along the river-bank, long after starlight, and perhaps an hour or more after sunset, I see some of those high-pillared clouds of the day, in the southwest, still reflecting a downy light from the regions of day, they are so high. It is a pleasing reminiscence of the day in the midst of the deepening shadows of the night.

As I sit on the river-bank beyond the ash tree there is an aurora, a low arc of a circle, in the north. The twilight ends to-night apparently about a quarter before ten. There is no moon.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, July 12, 1852

Swallows perched on the telegraph-wire by the bridge. . . circle a few moments over the water or meadow, and return to the wire again. See July 12, 1859 ("I observe that they take their broods to the telegraph-wire for an aerial perch, where they teach them to fly.") See also July 12, 1854 ("Many young barn swallows sit in flocks on the bared dead willows over the water and let me float within four or five feet")

I hear the toads still at night, together with bullfrogs, but not so universally nor loud as formerly. See July 12, 1859 (“In the evening, the moon being about full, I paddle up the river to see the moonlight and hear the bullfrogs. The toads and the pebbly dont dont are most common.”) See also July 8, 1855 (“I am surprised at the number of large light-colored toads everywhere hopping over these dry and sandy fields. ”); June 15, 1860 (“ For some time I have not heard toads by day, and the hylodes appear to have done."); July 16, 1856 (“See several bullfrogs lying fully out on pads at 5 p. m. They trump well these nights.”);  July 17, 1852 (“As I walked by the river last evening, I heard no toads.”); July 17, 1856 (“I see many young toads hopping about on that bared ground amid the thin weeds, not more than five eighths to three quarters of an inch long.”);  July 17, 1860 ("Clean and handsome bullfrogs. . .sit imperturbable out on the stones all around the pond.”)

July 12. See A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, July 12

Swallows on a wire

launch forth,  circle and return

to the wire again

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau

"A book, each page written in its own season,

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2021

Shadows of bright clouds sweep over the meadow-grass waving in the wind.

May 19

This has been the longest drought that I remember.  The last rain was April 16th.

A gentle intermittent warm rain at last begins, but to our disappointment it clears up at noon, and very little rain has fallen.

There is a stong southwest wind after the rain, rather novel and agreeable, blowing off some apple blossoms.

May 19, 2014

The grass, especially the meadow-grasses, are seen to wave distinctly, and the shadows of the bright fair-weather cumuli are sweeping over them like the shades of a watered or changeable stuff — June like.

The grass and the tender leaves, refreshed and expanded by the rain, are peculiarly bright and yellowish-green when seen in a favorable light. 

This occurrence of pretty strong southwest winds near the end of May, three weeks after the colder and stronger winds of March and April have died away, after the first heats and perhaps warm rain, when the apple trees and upland buttercups are in bloom, is an annual phenomenon. 

Not being too cold, they are an agreeable novelty and excitement now, and give life to the landscape.

Sorrel just begins to redden some fields. 

I have seen for a week a smaller and redder butterfly than the early red or reddish one. Its hind wings are chiefly dark or blackish. It is quite small. The forward wings, a pretty bright scarlet red with black spots.

See a green snake, a very vivid yellow green, of the same color with the tender foliage at present, and as if his colors had been heightened by the rain. 

This is the season when the meadow-grass is seen waving in the wind at the same time that the shadows of clouds are passing over it. 

At the Ministerial Swamp I see a white lady's-slipper almost out, fully grown, with red ones. 

By the path-side near there, what I should call a veery's nest with four light-blue eggs, but I have not heard the veery note this year, only the yorrick. It is under the projecting edge or bank of the path, — a large mass of fine grass-stubble, pine-needles, etc., but not leaves, and lined with pine-needles.

H.D. Thoreau, Journal, May 19, 1860

There is a stong southwest wind after the rain, rather novel and agreeable, blowing off some apple blossoms. See May 20, 1854 ("Methinks we always have at this time those washing winds as now, when the choke-berry is in bloom, — bright and breezy days blowing off some apple blossoms.”); May 27 1852 ("The road is white with the apple blossoms fallen off, as with snowflakes.”); June 1, 1855 ("A very windy day,  . . . scattering the remaining apple blossoms.”)

Shadows of the bright fair-weather cumuli.  See May 30, 1852 (“A breezy, washing day. A day for shadows, even of moving clouds, over fields in which the grass is beginning to wave.”)

May 19. See A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, May 19

After the warm rain 

a strong southwest wind blows off 

the apple blossoms.

Shadows of  bright clouds 

sweep over the meadow-grass

waving in the wind.

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau,

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau

"A book, each page written in its own season,

out-of-doors, in its own locality.”

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2024

A Dewdrop World --Warmest day yet.

May 13.

I observe this morning the dew on the grass in our yard. Each dewdrop is a delicate crystalline sphere trembling at the tip of a fresh green grass-blade. 

Each dewdrop takes the form of the planet itself. The surface of the globe is thus tremblingly alive.

2 P.M. – 82°; this and the last two days remarkably warm. 

At Holden Swamp, hear plenty of parti-colored warblers (tweezer-birds) and redstarts. 

The swamp is so dry that I walk about it in my shoes.

It is a remarkable day for this season. You have the heat of summer before the leaves have expanded. The sky is full of glowing summer cumuli. There is no haze; the mountains are seen with perfect distinctness.

It is so warm that I hear the peculiar sprayey note of the toad generally at night. 

The third sultry evening in my chamber. A faint lightning is seen in the north horizon.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 13, 1860

I observe this morning the dew on the grass in our yard. See  A Week (Tuesday):

In each dew-drop of the morning 

Lies the promise of a day

See also May 11, 1852 ("I find on examining, a small, clear drop at the end of each blade, quite at the top on one side.“); May 13, 1852 ("A The fields are green now, and all the expanding leaves and flower-buds are much more beautiful in the rain, - covered with clear drops.")

Each dewdrop takes the form of the planet itself. See June 16, 1840 ("The river down which we glided for that long afternoon was like a clear drop of dew with the heavens and the landscape reflected in it."); January 6, 1858 ("I may say that the maker of the world exhausts his skill with each snowflake and dewdrop that he sends down."); Dogen ("The whole moon and the entire sky are reflected in dewdrops on the grass, or even in one drop of water . . . Each reflection, however long or short its duration, manifests the vastness of the dewdrop, and realizes the limitlessness of the moonlight in the sky.") and Issa:

This dewdrop world

Is but a dewdrop world

And yet, and yet 

At Holden Swamp, hear plenty of parti-colored warblers (tweezer-birds) and redstarts. See note to May 13, 1856 (“At the swamp, hear the yorrick of Wilson’s thrush; the tweezer-bird or Sylvia Americana. Also the oven-bird sings.”)

May 13. I observe this morning the dew on the grass in our yard. — literally sparkling drops. which thickly stud it. Each dewdrop is a beautiful crystalline sphere just below (within an eighth of an inch more or less) the tip of the blade. Sometimes there are two or three. one beneath the other. the lowest the largest. Each dewdrop takes the form of the planet itself. What an advance is this from the sere. withered. and flattened grass. at most whitened with frost. which we have lately known. to this delicate crystalline drop trembling at the tip of a fresh green grass-blade. The surface of the globe is thus tremblingly alive.

A great many apple trees out. and probably some for two days.

2 P. M. — 82° ; warmest day yet. This and the last two days remarkably warm. Need a half-thick coat ; sit and sleep with open window. the 13th.

Row to Bittern Cliff. The celtis is not yet in bloom. The river is now six and fifteen sixteenths inches below summer level.

At Clamshell. one cerastium flower quite done and dry.

Ranunculus bulbosus abundant. spotting the bank ; maybe a week. Tall buttercup.

Horsemint seen springing up for a week. and refreshing scent.

Hear several bobolinks distinctly to-day.

 Hear the pebbly notes of the frog.

See the coarse green rank canary grass' springing up amid the bare brown button-bushes and willows.

Red wings are evidently busy building their nests. They are sly and anxious, the females. about the button-bushes.

See two crows pursuing and diving at a hen-hawk very high in the air over the river. He is steadily circling and rising. While they, getting above, dive down toward him. passing within a foot or two. making a feint. he merely winks, as it were, bends or jerks his wings slightly as if a little startled. but never ceases soaring. nor once turns to pursue or shake them off. It seemed as if he was getting uncomfortably high for them. 

At Holden Swamp. hear plenty of parti-colored warblers (tweezer-birds) and redstarts. 

Uvularia sessili folia abundant. how long? 

The swamp is so dry that I walk about it in my shoes. and the Kalmia glauca is apparently quite backward accordingly. — can scarcely detect any buds of it. — while the rhodora on shore will apparently bloom to-morrow.

Hear the yorrick.

The intetmediate ferns and cinnamon, a foot and a half high, have just leafeted out. The sensitive fern is only six inches high. — apparently the latest of all.

Sorrel.

It is a remarkable day for this season. You have the heat of summer before the leaves have expanded. The sky is full of glowing summer cumuli. There is no haze; the mountains are seen with perfect distinctness. It is so warm that you can  lie on the still brownish grass in a thin coat. and will seek the shade for this purpose.

 What is that fern so common at Lee's Cliff, now sprung up a foot high with a very chaffy stem? Marginal shield? Is that Polypodium Dryopteris in the bank behind the slippery elm? Now six or seven inches high. There is no mouse-ear down even there. Those heads which have looked most expanded and downy are invariably cut off by some creature (probably insect) and withered. 

The crickets creak steadily among the rocks.

The Carex varia (?) at Lee's all gone to seed. Barberry in bloom. Myosotis stricta. Arum triphyllum. how long? Cardamine rhomboidea. apparently to-morrow. just above Bittern Cliff.

It is so warm that I hear the peculiar sprayey note of the toad generally at night. The third sultry evening in my chamber. A faint lightning is seen in the north horizon.

The tender yellow green of birches is now the most noticeable of any foliages in our landscape. as looking across the pond from Lee's Cliff. The poplars are not common enough. The white birches are now distinguished simply by being clothed with a tender and yellow green. while the trees generally are bare and brown. — upright columns of green dashing the brown hillsides.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, May 13, 1860

Red wings are evidently busy building their nests. See  May 11, 1860 ("Red-wings do not fly in flocks for ten days past, I think.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the Red-wing in  Early Spring

See two crows pursuing and diving at a hen-hawk very high in the air over the river. See May 4, 1858 ("As I sit there by the swamp-side this warm summery afternoon, I hear the crows cawing hoarsely, and from time to time see one flying toward the top of a tall white pine. At length I distinguish a hen-hawk perched on the top. The crow repeatedly stoops toward him, now from this side, now from that, passing near his head each time, but he pays not the least attention to it.") See also A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, the American Crow

The tender yellow green of birches is now the most noticeable of any foliages in our landscape. May 17, 1852 ("After a storm at this season, the sun comes out and lights up the tender expanding leaves, and all nature is full of light and fragrance, and the birds sing without ceasing, and the earth is a fairyland. The birch leaves are so small that you see the landscape through the tree, and they are like silvery and green spangles in the sun, fluttering about the tree.") See also  A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau, Birches in Season